Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1887-05-27
ISLAND POND, VERMONT, MAY 27, 1887

skies above and violets below are blue
with a blueness that no description can
equal, Docia Honeywell came up to New
York to buy herself a silk dress, and
asked Roxanna Stephens to accompany
her.
81 never like to trust entirely to my
own taste" said Docia; ''and you have
such excellent ideas of color, Roxy"
When the dress was duly settled upon
-one of those delicious olives which,
like the hair of the poets heroine, was
Brown in the shadow, and gold in the sum-"
there was yet good hour and a half to
spare before the train went.
"Oh, do let us go to the Academy of
Designp said Roxy; sit can't be far.
And think it would rest my eyes to look
at some pictures. f"
1t was fine, sunshiny, breezy after
noon, and all the world was out. Roxy
came slowly up the broad marble steps,
looking around at the giant palms, and
the caoutchouc leaves, and the monster
camellia-trees, whose dark green foliage
shone as if it had been vanished. Be-
yOnd glowed the pictures, outlined in
gold full of vivid lights and deep mystic
rious shades. A little crowd had COL
lected before one particular canvas, and
following the usual impulse of human ma
ture, Docia and Roxy left the other pict-
ures-possibly possessed of equal merit
-unsurveyed, and joined the futtering,
performed knot of gazers.
'The picture of the season." she heard
eoxvinrr ~ 4ka coft lfoti,,nt
tones that denote your society oracle;
" La Jolie Blanchisseuse. Would you
believe that that little square of canvas
has been sold for thousand dollars2 It's
charmingly painted thing-oh, of
course-but, after all, what is there to
it?"
'It is the sentiment, the tone!" an
swered wise critic who was pencilling
down notes for an art paragraph in the
next days Sphiur ''In this age of the
world nobody can tell what's going to
succeed and what isn't. The public pulse
don't bear feeling as it used"
Little Roxy in her plain brown gown
and the poke hat of rough and ready
straw, with the loops of cherry ribbon
which she herself had sewn on, stood on
tiptoe to peep over the shoulder of the
tall lady in front of her at the picture
"Ah, Docia!" she cried, starting back,
as she caught glimpse of it, with the
strange sensation of one who looks into
a mirror, "I-I have seen that before"
In the foreground crystal-clear brook
gurgled away under fringe of luxuriant
crosses; in the middle distance there was
the green mystery of chestnut shadows
on the grass, and young girl asleep,
with bare white arms, and sun-bonnet
fallen down her neck, while an open book
lay on the ground. A winged black
bird balanced itself on bush at her right,
and in the background line full of fut-
tering clothes seemed to come and go at
the signal of the wind. One could almost
hear the murmer of the brook, almost see
the stir of the tall grasses in the yellow
mist of the noontide heats. 1t was a very
simple picture, to be sure, but it is the
simple pictures that speak to peoples
hearts nowadays.
Docia stared intently. 'Tt looks like
you, Roxy" she said, "and that is the
very chestnut-tree with the hollow heart
that blew down in the equinoctial gale
last March. Have you found the num-
Der in the catalogue? Who painted it9
All, 1 thought so-Mark Jefferys."
Roxy turned around with curious
thrill, half of pride, half anger, in her
heart, and saw tall figure coming toward
them from the monster palms that guarded
the stairway beyond-Mark Jetferys him
self.
"You have seen the picture Roxya"
he said-"'La Jolie Blanchisseuse'2 2
rest'-drawing her away from the
crowd into the cool green shadow of the
giant ferns and the caoutchouc- tree
''tmy fortune is made, and all through
you, and was coming tomorrow to lay
it at your feet"
1t was a strange place for young man
to speak out his heart in; but Mark
Jefferys was like no other man, and
Roxy had certain individuality of her
own. And was then the lover, and q
the tender little futtering maiden heart,
and what should it equal but s-the old,
old story of human happiness, that re-
peats itself anew for every generation?
Was it not as plain as any of the algebraic
equations in Roxy's books at school9-'
H0rper'S BaaGr.